


A Bright Light

by notunbroken



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notunbroken/pseuds/notunbroken
Summary: For Andy, not even a bit of backseat fun can wash away a terrible evening.





	A Bright Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Quod Erat Demondstratum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13866054) by [lolcat202](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolcat202/pseuds/lolcat202). 



> > “[Andy] knew enough about [Sharon] to know that she wasn’t exactly opposed to backseat sex, his own Crown Vic being witness to that…”
> 
> Those of who who’ve read lolcat’s fantastic _Quod Erat Demondstratum_ may recognize this line from what is now Chapter 2 (a.k.a. The One Where Andy Meets Sharon’s Mom). 
> 
> (And if you _haven’t_ read this story…do it! [It's linked above!] Not only because it’s a satisfying dose of Closer-era Secret Shandy, but because it’ll give context to what you’ll find below, which fits in with that universe.)
> 
> This fun little line jumped out at me during my last re-read, in a way it hadn’t before. Then it mutated into a plot bunny. Now it’s a ficlet! _Probably_ not the kind of story you’re picturing, but a story nonetheless!

It’s been several years since hard desperation last had Andy urging Sharon into the backseat of his car. 

Back then it’d been about getting off; the pure physical need of their then-new “understanding,” boosted by the victory of a closed case and the undercurrent risk of getting caught. She’d been shockingly receptive to the invitation, perhaps because he’d trailed his hand up under the hem of her sleek little dress, stoked her own desperation before he reached over to unlatch the back door.

It’d been fun. Informative, even, as it turned out straight-laced-gone-reckless is a special kind of hard-on fuel. But Sharon’s demand for discretion and the promise of aching joints for them both — not to mention Andy’s now-easy access the comforts of her bed — have kept them away. There are better options, all around.

Then again, despite the awful cop-on-cop cliche of it all, he couldn’t argue against the convenience factor. With his hands tangled in her hair, with her clenching him tight, with them combining to generate enough heat to fog the windows, he couldn’t bring himself to care about appearances. _Fuck it_.

This isn’t what he’d planned when he called her, gripping his phone in wobbly fingers. He hadn’t had a plan at all. He’d had only an impulse. His mind was full, then, tumbling over the evening, the lack of symmetry in it all. How could the most boring of days lead to him crouching on asphalt, watching the life leave a teenager's eyes, offering reassurances until they met unhearing ears? 

Under the sickly, bluish lights of Hollywood Presbyterian’s ER, he’d only wanted a pause. 

What he’d needed was proof that life isn’t all shit and fury. He’d needed someone to see him, straight to his core, and recognize the bruise there. He’d needed a reminder of the good. He’d needed Sharon, the best person he knows, and the calm in her voice and the glow in her smile.

She was tired when he found her waiting in the park, leaning against her car. It was well after midnight and she’d been working when she answered his call. Exhaustion weighed heavy across the curve of her shoulders. Her jacket was creased, her skirt was rumpled, and she’d abandoned her heels for flats. But her eyes brightened as she watched him back into the next spot over. A grin curled her lips. It was there for a flash, at least, before he climbed from the driver’s seat. 

Even from that distance, she saw it. A worried line drew between her brows. “Andy?”

He’d just wanted to talk. To yell, maybe, curse humanity for a few minutes. 

But proximity made him greedy. An urgent push for connection overwhelmed him. He needed a dose of her skin, soft and delicate beneath his fingers. He needed to taste her gasps, to hold her hips, to chase one moment of absolute, flawless release. He needed to have her surround him wholly, perfectly, until the ugly world fell away.

And it had all worked, for a too-short time. Andy got his mindless seconds. But guilt rushes into the aftermath, filling the void like an overtopped dam. Still hefting air into his lungs, he flops his head back, ignoring the thudded impact of the window against his skull. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles through the friction of his palms along his face. “I’m sorry, this is…”

When his silence stretches into seconds, Sharon leans forward, re-establishing full contact. Her voice curls into a gentle tease. “What, you’re too good for backseat sex, now?”

“No.” He drops his hands to her shoulders, draws parallel lines down her back, to where her skirt still bunches at her waist. He eases the fabric back into place as he says, “But _you_ are.”

“Hm, doesn’t look like it.” Her lips find his neck, applying a faint line of kisses upward. On reaching his jaw, she whispers, “Not with you, anyway,” and continues toward his ear, then up to his temple.

How is it possible that such tiny touches could leave his chest aching like it’s being ratcheted open?

And how can the feeling double when it’s mostly breath that forms her next words? 

“What’s going on, Andy?”

His choppy, snapshot awareness from earlier is gone. The entire fiasco has clicked into a timeline in his memory. It’s left him just...sad. 

Rather than answer, rather than fit words to all of it, he concentrates on tracing his thumbs along her collarbones. Under her half-unbuttoned blouse, he splays his fingers in line with her ribs. She’s warm and solid and thrumming under his hands. _Comfortingly real_ , he thinks. _Undeniably present._

She tries again. “Did your lecture go okay?”

“It was fine.” 

It was after the lecture when the evening first went weird, having to shut down the professor’s flirtation without getting too deep into the whys. It’s been years, now, since Andy last concerned himself with picking up a woman. It’s been never since he’d had to keep one from picking _him_ up. He’d stammered through some variation of ‘I’m taken,’ since ‘I’m in love and I don’t really know where it’s going but I like where it is so I’m sticking around anyway’ isn’t something to drop on a stranger. Or even a friend. 

At least the offer gave him something to tell Provenza. It’s gotten harder to keep him away from the truth, with his prying-ass questions...

Sharon’s finger hooks under his chin, pulling his gaze to meet hers. Concern etches across her face. He never has been able to shake the feeling she can read him like a book. 

_And is that not what I wanted?_

“There was a girl,” he starts. The rest of it sticks like cotton on his tongue.

“At the college?”

“No. After. On my way back.” Andy lets his eyes fall closed. Without a suitable distraction, his mind supplies the moment at the red light when Gracie had smiled at him. “She was on a moped.”

“Yeah?”

“I watched a car,” his voice cracks, “hit her. Head-on.”

Sharon’s exhale brushes his cheek. She tenses. “Oh my God.”

“She went up and over, there was nothing…” Pulling away from her hand, he stares out the windshield. The park remains dark and still around them. “She died, bled out on the street while she told me how her parents — her dad — hadn’t wanted her to be riding around.”

“You stayed with her.”

“Of course. No one deserves to…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Followed the ambulance to Presbyterian, though it was pretty clear she was already gone.”

“Oh,” Sharon pulls herself, somehow, closer. “Honey.”

The endearment leaves him blurting the idea that’s been rattling in his head since they jostled into the car. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice vibrates through his chest. “You did an amazing, difficult thing tonight, Andy. I’m proud of you.”

“What choice did I have?”

“You could’ve handled it like a _cop_. Concerned yourself with calling it in, preserving evidence, directing traffic. You certainly didn’t have to go to the hospital with her. That none of those were even an _option_ says a lot about who you are.” She nuzzles at his temple. “It says everything about why I love you.”

“Everything?”

Sharon pulls back enough to look him in the eye. “ _Most_ everything, yes.”

He curls his fingers at her waist. “I want to find who did it.”

“And you will, I’m sure.” She brushes her lips against his, once, twice, before pushing off his chest with steel in her gaze. “Starting _tomorrow_.”

“M’kay.” He’s too drained to argue.

“Have you eaten?”

“I thought you were still working.” He can’t work much care into the observation.

The corners of her mouth turn down as her eyes track the path of her fingers raking through his hair. “I can be at a stopping point.”

“I don’t want you to —”

His protest is interrupted by the barest, most chaste kiss. In the following silence, her quiet suggestion leaves no room for argument. “Let’s go home.”

 _Home_. 

The word summons the cozy confines of a top-floor condo, all dark hardwood and flame tones, with tall windows overlooking Griffith Park. It’s a place where he’ll find soft-worn sheets and the sort of intimacy he long ago stopped expecting to find, where he can rest without burden. It’s the near-opposite of his aspirationally large, comically empty suburban house, a series of rooms where he can barely stand to be anymore. 

Home is with Sharon.

It’s where he finds the good.


End file.
